


What Would Be Enough?

by angelicaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon Era, Denial of Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Man, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6647080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are always welcome to stay through the night, Alexander,” Washington says. He says it every time. He never wants his most trusted aide to feel as though he’s being taken advantage of, like he’s nothing but a bed warmer. </p>
<p>Washington doesn’t know what this arrangement makes him, truthfully. Hamilton never discloses how it makes him feel, but neither does Washington, for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Would Be Enough?

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt, which essentially called for some canon era hurt/comfort. And yikes, I hope I delivered!

Washington knows better.

He’s always prided himself on his willpower, his restraint, his control – the characteristics any man in his role should possess. The makeup of an effective leader. He knows he’s crossed the line a handful of times. Knows that personal attachment to his aides in any form is problematic at its core. With his position, there are boundaries. Limits. 

Lafayette’s infatuation and his own affection for the young marquis - that’s innocent enough, yes. But as he watches Hamilton stir in his own cot, a bare thigh paled from the winter peeking out from under the sheets, he thinks – this is it. This will be his downfall.

“You are always welcome to stay through the night, Alexander,” Washington says from where he’s seated at his desk. He says it every time. He never wants his most trusted aide to feel as though he’s being taken advantage of, like he’s nothing but a bed warmer. Washington doesn’t know  _what_  this arrangement makes him, truthfully. Hamilton never discloses how it makes him feel, but neither does Washington, for that matter.

It happened – the first night – not three months ago, after a rare round of drinks following an infuriating day. It’s funny now, Washington thinks, how he can’t remember the specifics. He still isn’t sure who initiated, who touched or kissed or undressed first. But it was Hamilton who came to him the next time, sober with a self-assured smirk, already half-dressed. That didn’t make it right – Washington knows this. It only made it easier to give in.

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Hamilton says, standing from the cot and rolling his shoulders back, his bare body on display. He’s a little too lean, but aren’t they all? Washington cringes at his formality, and keeps his eyes from wandering. “But the others will wonder if I don’t return this evening.”

Washington nods, not allowing any disappointment to show on his face. He knows Hamilton’s right, and he doesn’t pretend to believe his bed is the only one the colonel seeks at night. He turns back to the work in front of him – securing lodging in Charlottesville. Several requests for an invitation have been rejected. They’ll have to start from scratch.

Hamilton, now fully dressed aside from a jacket draped over one arm, steps behind him to read over his shoulder. Washington feels him hesitate and rest his hands on the back of the wooden chair. He wishes the hands were on his shoulders, instead – if only so he could place his own on top of one.

“Save it for the morning, sir. I’ll return no later than six,” Hamilton says, and Washington looks up at him, an eyebrow raised. He realizes, with some surprise, he wouldn’t mind if Hamilton leaned down to meet his lips.

The corner of Hamilton’s mouth twitches up in a smile and his eyes – softer than Washington’s accustomed to – shine in the lamplight. He resists the urge to reach out and grab his hand when he steps away from the desk. Instead, he clears his throat, speaks –

“Alexander, a moment, please,” he says, careful. He would hate for it to sound like a command. Hamilton’s shoulders stiffen a bit, but he turns back around.

“Does this please you? This arrangement between you and I?” Washington asks. He leans back in his chair and watches Hamilton’s face carefully. The boy grins and Washington nearly groans. He anticipates the words before they even leave his lips –

“Multiple times, Your Excellency, if I’m lucky –”

“Young man.”

“My apologies, sir.”

Washington clears his throat again, forces himself not to stare at his inkwell in place of Hamilton. “You understand that your affections outside of these – trysts, if you would – can be difficult to interpret. Seeing as they are nonexistent.”

Hamilton straightens up, taken aback, so Washington stands from his desk and holds out one hand, silencing him.

“Don’t misunderstand, my boy,” he says quickly. “I am not seeking intimacy where there is none. Only reassurance that you desire to keep things as they are.”

Hamilton’s eyes dart toward the door, then back to Washington. He looks as though he’s holding his breath.

“Very much so, sir,” he says, barely above a whisper, deflating a bit.

A few beats of silence. Washington sighs. “You understand this conduct, on my part, is unbecoming. It’s important that I know you are content.”

_Not that his consent would matter,_ Washington thinks,  _if anyone were to discover us._

Hamilton stares at him a moment, and Washington detects something like remorse in his eyes. Then it’s gone, almost as soon as he’s spotted it.

“You have nothing to worry about, sir,” Hamilton says, and Washington believes him. Not only because he has to, for his own sanity. But because Hamilton says it with enough conviction to leave Washington wondering what else he isn’t disclosing. 

* * *

 

Lafayette discovers them not a month later.

Hamilton makes him a little reckless, makes his brain a little foggy - and that’s how he forgets his scheduled nightcap with the marquis. It’s easy with Hamilton, not wearing a stitch of clothing, sprawled out across his chest, eyelids heavy. 

This, Washington thinks, might be the night Hamilton decides to stay. 

“Once more,” Hamilton whines around a yawn, rolling his hips down. Washington chuckles, presses his palm against the small of Hamilton’s back and smiles at the way he shivers against his own body. 

“You’re nearly asleep,” Washington points out, and then, tenderly, reaches out and runs the pad of his thumb along Hamilton’s swollen lips. Hamilton regards him with some surprise, but then smiles and bites down, gentle. 

“You could do all the work,” he says, eyes darkening. And just as Washington is about to roll him onto his back – 

There’s a light rap at his door, then the squeaking of hinges, and –

“Your Excellency – _oh!_ ”

Washington pushes Hamilton off the cot with such unrestrained force that for a moment he’s worried he’s hurt him – but Hamilton lands on his feet, almost gracefully, and then he’s reaching out to Lafayette, speaking rapid-fire French as Washington hurriedly dresses himself, heart pounding.

The three are sitting around the small oak table in Washington’s bedroom, silent, an emptied bottle of Madeira between them, when Lafayette starts to laugh.

“To you, General,” Lafayette says, raising his glass. “It has been some time since I’ve seen our Hamilton so… _smitten_. I have wondered…”

Hamilton’s eyes widen, his face pales, looks like he’s choking back words – so Washington takes pity, changes the subject.

“Your discretion in this matter, Gilbert, you understand, is important – ”

“ _Oui_ , yes,” Lafayette cuts him off. “The two of you are my dearest friends. You know this.”

 

* * *

 

Washington expects a shift after that. There is none. Hamilton still scurries away every evening, leaves his bed cold despite Washington’s attempts to make him stay. And whenever Washington touches him outside of the sheets – a hand on the thigh, a brush of fingertips along Hamilton’s neck – he pulls away as if burned. It leaves Washington feeling morose and dejected, wondering if he even heard Lafayette correctly that night – _smitten_ , he’d said.

Washington stops trying. Hamilton’s evening visits become less and less frequent and, against their very nature, start to leave him feeling unsatisfied.

“Perhaps I have misunderstood the marquis,” Washington says one night from his cot, watching Hamilton dress. “And perhaps I have made a mistake, not speaking of this with you sooner.”

Hamilton turns to him as he fastens his trousers, rattles off a reply that tells Washington the colonel has been anticipating this very conversation for some time. 

“Sir, English is not Lafayette’s first language. Please. Forgive him.”

Washington pulls himself up so he’s seated on the cot, bare from the waist up. Hamilton’s eyes, he notices, linger on his chest for just a moment before darting back up to his eyes.

“It’s just as you said before, sir,” Hamilton says. “I would not seek intimacy where there is none.”

Washington looks away, feeling suddenly fragile, though he is the commander and Hamilton the solider. He looks on the bed, and then down on the floor for his nightshirt until Hamilton finds it draped across the back of a chair and hands it over to him, still silent.

“What is it you hope to gain from this, Alexander?” he asks, pulling the shirt over his head. “Tell me.”

He’s not certain he wants to know the truth. Washington’s sure he hasn’t treated Hamilton with any sort of decipherable favoritism on the field, though he knows of the colonel’s desires for a command of his own. He’s always felt an unspoken understanding between them - their actions, here, do not carry over to matters of war or status. 

“War is very lonely,” Hamilton says, tying his hair back. After a moment’s hesitation, he sits next to Washington on the cot. “It’s only natural to seek out the company of fellow men.”

Washington looks at him. “And Colonel Laurens - ?”

Hamilton squints, taking a moment to catch his meaning. “I - it has been some time.” A long pause, and then he surges forward, “Your Excellency, I cannot help but wonder. You and Lafayette - ?”

Washington barks out a laugh and Hamilton echoes it nervously, brown eyes wide as he awaits an answer. 

“My dear boy,” Washington says, and when he rests a heavy hand on Hamilton’s thigh, he doesn’t pull away. “I’m an old man. And you - you are quite enough.”

Hamilton bites back a smile and Washington laughs again, then leans forward and does something they don’t do nearly often enough - he kisses Hamilton. Once. Firmly. Almost sweet.

“Stay,” Washington says quietly when he pulls back, brushing his lips against Hamilton’s cheek. “Alex.”

He hears Hamilton inhale once - sharp - and then chapped lips on his again, followed by a sigh. Washington closes his eyes. He knows what’s coming.

“I can’t.”

He doesn’t open his eyes again until Hamilton has slipped off the cot and out of the room.

 

* * *

 

There are rumors about a plot. Rumors he’s more or less ignored for his own sake. There are people in place to protect him. Assure nothing and no one slips through the cracks.

He’s not afraid. Fear is not something he has time for. 

It happens on a sunny afternoon, having just arrived in Charlottesville, waiting for Lafayette and Hamilton to join him in his office. The workload has more than doubled since arriving in Virginia, and Washington suspects even Hamilton – despite his protests – will need assistance.

He has his jacket off, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, sorting unopened envelopes when the door squeaks open.

“Gentlemen, I – ”

He glances up, and finds himself staring down the barrel of a pistol. The young man holding it swallows and straightens his arm. Looks Washington in the eye.

_Thomas Hickey_ , Washington’s brain helpfully supplies as he places the stack of papers back on his desk, his hands surprisingly steady even as his heart drums in his chest. The newest member of his Life Guard, joined them here in Charlotesville not three days ago, glowing recommendations from both Knox and Greene. He almost laughs. Incredible, he thinks - that he’ll likely die at the hands of someone who swore to protect him. 

Washington closes his eyes, prepares himself for whatever this is – his death, a capture – his own pistols are across the room, out of reach. He inhales. Focuses on his breathing. Time stands still.

And then – it could be seconds, could be minutes - heavy footsteps and the clear sound of a gunshot, a familiar ringing in his ear, and, even as Washington braces himself for impact the bullet doesn’t hit him where he expects. No – he feels a sharp pain in his thigh and then he’s on the floor. Distant yelling in French, then English – another gunshot and a _thud_ – but Washington gives in, closes his eyes against the dizzying pain, faintly aware of the commotion swarming around him like a gathering storm.

 

* * *

 

Dying, he decides, isn’t nearly as easy as he anticipated.

The world around him is dream-like. White around the edges - almost too bright. Words don’t form on his own lips, and he can’t make sense of the shapeless figures surrounding him. What he does know, still, is touch. At first, there are multiple pairs of hands all over, prodding him, and he knows that, if he could scream, he certainly would. At first, he feels like he’s burning from the inside. And then it’s his head - a pain behind his eyes so intense he wants nothing more than to reach up and claw them out. 

He has no sense of time, but at some point he’s aware less people are touching him. And it’s a relief. From there, it’s the occasional unfamiliar hand pressed against his forehead or resting just above his knee, where most of the pain still lies. Soon - he recognizes the touches as those of his own men. He senses a dark shape to his left, panic swelling in his chest until it’s Lafayette’s knuckles tracing the hollow of his cheekbone, up and down in gentle strokes. 

There are moments when he feels no one else around him and he’s certain he’s dead. And then there will be the distant sound of footsteps, his body will shift, and he’ll feel a solid, warm weight next to him. Never touching, but there. And, somehow, it’s enough.

 

* * *

 

Lafayette’s face is the first he sees once the haze clears.

“ _George,_ ” he chokes out, too overcome to correct himself, though Washington doesn’t mind. The marquis sits on the edge of his bed and helps him with a glass of water, whispering to himself in French before leaning down and kissing him firmly on both cheeks.

Washington, to his horror, learns it’s been a little over a week. Thomas Hickey, Lafayette says, already executed.

“We would have waited for your approval,” Lafayette says, one hand gripping Washington’s over the sheets. “But General Greene allowed it. There were days we did not think you would make it through the night.”

The infection, Lafayette says, spread so rapidly he nearly lost his leg. Washington shudders at the thought, and suddenly the painful throbbing in his thigh isn’t as much of an annoyance - at least he still has a thigh.

The room is filled with a comfortable silence as Lafayette checks his bandages and Washington stares up at the ceiling, counting each lungful of air he breathes in. He’s _lucky_. And then - he remembers.

“Gilbert,” he says once the marquis has tucked the blankets around him again. He grabs hold of his forearm. “You and Alexander - you were in the room. You stopped him.”

“It was Alexander who knocked away his pistol,” Lafayette says, grim. “Though he did not come out of it unscathed.”

Bile rises in Washington’s throat and Lafayette must sense it, must see it in his face - he squeezes his hand quickly.

“Alexander is fine. But Hickey did strike him in the shoulder. He was quite weak for a day or two, but he has been at your side through the worst of it. Most of his nights have been spent in here.”

Washington’s chest tightens for a moment as he remembers that warm, comforting weight next to him. The presence that he’s certain kept him breathing. 

Hamilton stayed.

“He cares for you very deeply,” Lafayette continues. “We were all sick with grief and worry, but Alexander - John and I watched over him almost as much as we watched over you. He was quite devastated.”

“Gilbert,” Washington says, unsuccessfully trying to mask the heartache in his voice. It still cracks. “Would you please bring him to me?”

Not even five minutes pass between Lafayette’s exit and when Hamilton enters the tiny bedroom. He stands in the entryway for a moment, silent, his right arm in a sling.

“Your writing arm,” Washington notes with dismay. “My dear, I - ”

“It will heal,” Hamilton interrupts, voice small. He closes the door behind him and carefully walks over to Washington’s bed - slow, guarded. He drags over a chair and sits. “Your Excellency - ”

“Alex. It’s because of you I’m still living.” He reaches one hand out and Hamilton clutches it, almost desperately. Washington can see, now, that his eyes - usually so beautiful - are red and swollen. His hair, unwashed. “You’ll be rewarded for this, I - ”

“I don’t care about rewards,” Hamilton interrupts, dragging his chair a little closer, his lips trembling. “You nearly broke all of our hearts, sir. Mine, most of all.”

Washington’s stomach drops. “Alexander - ”

“No, let me finish. Please,” he says, standing now and pacing the room, boots heavy on the wooden floors. “If you choose to cast me from your side for what I am about to say, I will gladly accept that fate, but I cannot go on much longer without admitting I’ve become enamored of you. And I understand what I feel is not returned, that you could not possibly … but in the face of nearly losing you, General, I cannot conceal the - the fondness I feel for you any longer.” 

Washington shifts under the sheets, a fruitless attempt to pull his weight up and lean against the bed’s headboard. But his leg, useless, only throbs in protest. So he stays. Hamilton draws himself a little taller, almost like he’s bracing himself. Only his eyes give away his fear.

“Relax,” Washington says, and he smiles, and Hamilton’s shoulders slump with something like relief. He pats the open spot next to him on the bed, where Lafayette was perched not fifteen minutes ago. “Come sit with me. And tell me what I have done to make you believe your affections were not returned.”

So Hamilton sits, one hand lightly resting on Washington’s bare calf, poking out from under the blankets. He tells him, then - how his refusal to stay through the night was born out of a fear that Washington was extending the invitation out of mere politeness. Or worse - pity. Washington feels a pang of guilt.

“I did not want you to feel as if you were being thrown out as soon as we were done,” Washington explains. “And then I found myself hating watching you leave.”

Hamilton shrugs one shoulder and looks away, and Washington understands now - he was scared.

“Gilbert says you stayed with me every night this past week,” Washington says, smiling, and Hamilton groans, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Would you come lie with me now? With my leg and your arm, you will have to roll me to face the wall, I’m afraid.”

Hamilton toes off his boots and then strips off his jacket, draping it over the bed’s footboard. Then, very tenderly, he helps Washington adjust so he’s on one side, leaving room for Hamilton to tuck and curl himself around him, his forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. 

“Is this - ” he inches closer, breath hot on Washington’s back. “Are you comfortable?”

He closes his eyes and presses back against Hamilton’s body. “Very.”

Behind him, Hamilton is still and silent for a while, his breathing so even that, for a moment, Washington thinks he’s fallen asleep. And then - there’s a kiss pressed to the back of his neck, feather-light, a whispering of _“sir.”_

“‘George,’ I think, would be more appropriate moving forward,” Washington says, voice filling the room. Hamilton twitches behind him, surprised, and he can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t you think, Alex?”

“Yes, s- George. _George._ ”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [a-schuyler](http://a-schuyler.tumblr.com/) on tumblr - come chat!


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